2. 2

"You never called," came from behind Joq in a deep, melodic voice that was slightly familiar.

Joq gazed over his shoulder, turning slightly to take the guy in.

He was smiling, warm and a little shy, his wide brown eyes peering at Joq as if he was trying to see into him.

Joq felt that little tingle of warmth spread through him, same as when they met a week ago.

"Not yet," he replied.

He moved ahead in the line for coffee and felt the presence of the guy at his back. Felt as well the slight height difference in the way the guy's breath tickled the back of his head.

"So, you're going to call?" the guy asked. He pitched it quiet, like he wanted it to be just between them, but it made it feel unbearably intimate.

Joq shook his head. "Probably not," he said, which was the truth, even though for the first time since the whole mess with George, he kind of felt like maybe. There was a flicker of interest there, but even thinking George's name extinguished it. He was well and truly over George as a boyfriend, a partner, a whatever the fuck they really were; but he was not moving past it any time soon. Sometimes he couldn't even look at himself in the mirror. The last thing he wanted was a date or a fuck or—heaven forbid—a goddamn boyfriend.

He stepped up and ordered his coffee, keenly aware of the guy behind him. As he moved to the side, he saw the guy watching him, saw as well the hint of uncertainty in his look. It'd been there last week as well—the guy was handsome and nicely built; thick curly brown hair, classic features in a way that was refined where George had been rugged. And fuck it all, he thought and glanced away, he was not thinking about George. He'd thought about him enough that day and it was barely nine in the morning. Curse the Melbourne sports bubble and never-ending news coverage.

"Okay," the guy said as he stood beside him after ordering his own coffee; he sounded as if he'd decided on something. "I get it."

"Cool," Joq replied and stood there awkwardly. He could pull out his phone but he didn't want to look at it. The morning's news had been enough—Finn copping some homophobic remark about a teammate not wanting to shower with him; Joq could not get the image of Finn's laughing face when a reporter asked him about it and he'd replied: "I think he's safe," out of his head.

Worse still was George's comment for the morning news cycle when they bailed him up on his way to training: "Finn's got no cause to be looking anywhere else, I keep him well-satisfied," accompanied by a hard yet smug expression. Joq could feel the ripples through the media channels, as if everyone was as equally chastised as they were horrified at George talking about his gay sex life.

George had looked like he knew it too; so self-assured, so not the guy he'd been with Joq. Joq wanted to throw his phone into the Yarra but came here instead, this guy and the reason he'd been avoiding the place momentarily forgotten.

He felt irritated, remembering all that, and this guy was just standing there, hands in his pockets, too close, again, so close their arms were almost brushing.

"What're you after?" Joq heard himself asking, his tone cold.

He felt the guy's look on the side of his head, felt his surprise.

"A date?" the guy asked.

Joq regarded him. He was watching him back steadily. Joq flicked his gaze to his throat—no tie today, the collar open—his skin looked warm, flawless, and there was an unmistakable pulse, beating a little quick as the guy swallowed under the look.

"I don't date," Joq said. What had he been thinking, talking to this guy again?

"What do you do then?" the guy asked softly.

And well, if he was going to push. "What do you think?"

The guy pushed his hands further into his pockets, rocked back on his heels and assessed him, a small smile playing on his face, but still with that hint of nerves. "You could be looking to settle down."

Joq laughed. The guy smiled like he'd said something right.

Joq's coffee was called and he went to get it.

"Call me," came from behind him. "And it's Chris."

Joq took his coffee, walked past him as he headed out. "I didn't ask." He had him saved in his phone as hot weird coffee guy.

The newsagency across from the coffee place was plastered in papers with Finn on the front, George in a box in the corner, headlines screaming about the whole incident.

He turned back. The guy, Chris, was grabbing his coffee. He met Joq's eyes and smiled, walked over as he blew on it.

"Waiting for me?"

Joq snorted. "There's a hotel I like to go to."

Chris raised an eyebrow.

"I'll text the address. Tonight? Seven?"

Chris raised both eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yes? Unless you don't want—"

"I do, it's just," his eyes flicked back and forth on Joq's. He was standing a little too close again and Joq took him in properly—the lean build on a body that could go either way, muscular or wiry, the broad shoulders—and he knew attraction wasn't going to be a problem. "Are you sure?" Chris asked.

"Are you?" Joq countered. The guy hesitated. And fuck it all if Joq was dealing with that. "Forget about it."

He walked away.

"No, wait," the guy rushed after him. "Text me. You'll text me?"

Joq wasn't sure he would now, but he nodded sharply and quickened his pace. The guy took the hint and let him go.

He didn't know why he looked back—again—but he did.

Chris was standing there, still watching him. He smiled, a big, cheesy grin. Joq rolled his eyes around a small smile.

Fuck it all, he thought as he turned back and headed for the stadium, maybe it was time to get back on the horse; it'd been almost a year, he needed to get laid and get over it.